


Stealing the Light

by NiriKeehan



Series: Post-War Chronicles [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armitage Hux Lives, Ben Solo Lives, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Soft Ben Solo, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, a good night's sleep, processing past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiriKeehan/pseuds/NiriKeehan
Summary: Redemption isn’t given. It’s earned.Or: As the galaxy rebuilds from war, the man formerly known as Kylo Ren tries to make peace with the person he was, and the person he’s becoming.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Post-War Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649713
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bratanimus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratanimus/gifts).



> This was written in response to the following prompt: 
> 
> "Rey and Kylo disagreed about many things. Perhaps unsurprisingly, so do Rey and Ben. The difference is how they resolve their arguments." 
> 
> I hope you like it!

The tower looms above him, white marble jutting into the misty sky. Rain pours down in a fine spray, soaking his hair and dampening his shirt – he had refused Rey’s suggestion to bring an umbrella this morning. The walk here had been fine, even if he’d gotten wet. Spring blooms early on this side of Corellia, and the hills are bursting with color. Blooming pops of purple, pink, yellow. He will pick some for her on the way back, he decides.

He could do that now. Skip the appointment altogether.

But then they will come after him. He’ll be easy to find, with the cuff on his ankle blinking its red warning light. He reminds himself that it could be worse and walks through the entrance.

Corellia is a world by and large obsessed with the beauty of its architecture. Even the buildings of ill repute pay attention to the aesthetics of design. As prisons goes, this one is lovelier than most: a brightly lit circular lobby, lush with greenery. He’s in the administration section, far from the prisoners who spend their days here full time, but he knows the accommodations there aren’t as brutalist as they could be. Lots of ivy-covered stonework and wide windows, though barred. _We could rot away in worse circumstances_ , Hux had mused to him one day, in the recreation yard. _Though I suspect, of course, it will not be nearly as long as all that._

It hadn’t, not for him, but not in the way Hux had been suggesting.

He steps up to the reception droid. A tinny metallic voice chirps: “Name?”

“Kylo R—” he says, before catching himself. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I mean Ben Solo.”

The name is thick and foreign on his tongue, a persona he thought he’d murdered long ago. And yet, here he is. He catches his reflection in the transparisteel barrier separating him from the droid: the hair limp on his shoulders, the drab grey shirt, his eyes dazed, as if he still can’t quite believe his own luck. No military blacks, cape, mask. Nothing to remind him of his old life, save for the diagonal scar slashed down his face. Even that seems to be fading – and with it, his sense of who he really is.

He takes the visitor’s pass printed for him and follows the instructions on it to the elevators. He’s running late. He hopes they’ll be lenient. It’s his first parole meeting.

The probation office is similarly light and airy. He sits alone, a holo-display suspended above the room like a security camera, running one of the newly restored news stations on mute. Everyone is giddy to have the free press again. The novelty of it means he sees it on every holo-screen, every datapad carried by residents in town.

Everyone is watching, breathless, to learn what will happen now that the First Order is gone, but so is the New Republic. Today, it’s a topic he hoped not to see. It’s all speculation at this point, as Corellia’s Inner Council has not yet ratified the new Constitution, has not yet passed the law addressing how to deal with war criminals. That’s part of the reason why he’s where he is. The reasoning was to get him out before the public can complain and demand accountability.

Which they’re still doing, of course, but the source of their ire has shifted. He stares at the familiar mugshot all the news broadcasts use, the former General Armitage Hux disheveled and unshaven, his orange hair falling onto his forehead. He looks like a war criminal, like this. But can Kylo ever recall a moment when a strand was out of place, a collar wrinkled? Never. _Should this animal be allowed to live, after that he did to the Hosnian system, the whole seat of New Republic power?_ the talking heads ask. Opinions are mixed.

_He helped too,_ Kylo thinks, the words like acid on his tongue. _He probably helped more than I did. No one seems to remember that._ Hux is still in this building somewhere, sitting and waiting. The person who served by his side – often at odds with him, though with the same goals – walks free. They speak of building a just universe, but where’s the justice in that?

His name is called and he misses it, deep in thought. _Ben Solo_ is a stranger, someone who might be lurking behind him, unnoticed, if he doesn’t turn around to check. But he’s the only one in the waiting room, and the receptionist’s smile falters. He bumbles to his feet.

His assigned counselor is a Twi’lek, green-skinned, young, prone to smiling. All of this feels wrong. Kylo sits before her desk, unsure what to do with his hands. She’s supposed to specialize in cases like his. How this is possible, he has no idea. How many reformed dictators does she see?

She dignifies the terrible joke with a chortle. “What I mean is, my specialty is cult deprogramming.”

He wants to retort that he wasn’t in a cult, but it occurs to him that’s probably what people in cults say, so he shuts his mouth. They go over the basics, what type of reports she needs to submit on his progress and to whom, and then starts in with the inquisition.

“How’s work?”

Fine, fine. He’s been assigned to a corps in the newly formed Habitat for the Galaxy, building houses for refugees. Corellia was largely untouched in the war, but plenty of worlds weren’t. The survivors have been streaming into the Core, more than the current infrastructure can handle. They’re building whole communities from the ground up on the vast plains east of Corel City. He’s learned he likes to work with his hands. It keeps his mind busy, and tires him out enough that he can sleep through the night. It’s nice to build something, after so many years of dwelling on destruction.

“Home life?”

He grins for the first time all day. It’s the best part, the only thing keeping all of this together. If not for Rey, there’d be no point in any of it.

“That’s admirable,” the counselor says, pursing her lips. “It’s good to have a support network. But I worry you’re not doing anything for _you_.”

He is baffled. “Me? I don’t matter.”

“You do.”

He scoffs. “Most would not agree with you.”

He hears the grumbling, of course. On the Holonews, where the pundits believe he got off far too easy, the privilege of his legacy – but also on the street. People talk. Why does the former Supreme Leader, Dark Lord Kylo Ren, get to be living his life, like he never snuffed out the lives of countless others and terrorized the galaxy for years? He wonders this, too. Friends in high places, certainly: Rey is on the Inner Council, and vouched for him during his detention. Council members Poe Dameron and Rose Tico agreed, arguing the new government should start off on a foot of mercy.

For Ben Solo, anyway. He’s the son of two war heroes— well, two people on the winning side of the last war. It’s his name that matters, not the content of his character. It feels cruel, wholly unfair.

“I don’t care what others think,” says his counselor. “I care what you think.”

What does _he_ think? Does he deserve to be alive, let alone out in the universe, smelling the fresh spring air? Should he have died in a dusty, dingy hellhole, in the arms of someone he loves? He shrugs. “Is it worth dwelling on what-ifs?”

It’s not, they agree. The past is gone, she says. The future is an illusion. Now is all that matters. She speaks like this is a comfort, but he finds it unsettling. “But what if right now, I don’t even know who I am?”

“You can’t completely cut out who you used to be. And you can’t just decide you’re someone else. In the now, Kylo Ren has to learn to live with Ben Solo.”

He snorts. “It’s as simple as that, huh?”

“No,” she says, with a gentle look. “It’s not simple at all.”

* * *

On the walk home through the village, he is followed. He can sense them, tiny presences on the edge of his periphery as he cuts through the town square, all moss-covered stones surrounding a long defunct well. They close in fast, but he pays them no attention, his mind on the flowers on the hill.

Until one says, “Hey, Supreme Leader!”

He turns, because, maddeningly, that’s a name he responds to better than the one given to him at birth, and the rock hits him square in the eye. It’s about the size of a remote droid, and knocks him back several steps. One does see stars when hit hard enough. His hand clutches one eye; the other scans his enemies. Angry townsfolk, it looks like, mostly young human men. They laugh at the blood they’ve drawn. Others shout ruder names, call him a traitor and a monster and the bane of the galaxy. Nothing he hasn’t heard before.

He wants to tell them he understands. He was like them once, volatile and explosive to the touch. He wants to summon the Force and knock them all down on their self-righteous little asses. But Force-use is a strict violation of the terms of his probation. He’s supposed to be demonstrating his remorse and capacity for rehabilitation.

“What’s the matter, _Ben Solo_?” one of them taunts. “C’mon, show us some of that dark side rage!”

He backs away from them, scanning the square for the best escape route.

“This coward almost took over the whole galaxy? Seriously?”

“I’ve seen mildew scarier than this lothcat.”

The voices crescendo as the mob closes in, but only one carried a stone. He scrambles up and over a wall and takes off at a run. The jeering follows him, with the advice never to show his face in town again.

The long way home it is. No flowers today, it seems.

* * *

“Terrible news,” Rey calls cheerfully as he skulks through the front door. “I’ve ruined the cake.”

She appears in the kitchen doorway, holding a lopsided mass that in some universe might be mistaken for a dessert. She beholds her misshapen creation, then looks up and gasps. “What happened?”

The cut above his eyebrow is shallow and stopped bleeding on the way home, but his left eye has swollen shut.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles. “I tripped.”

“C’mere,” Rey says, beckoning him through their small dwelling, temporary housing constructed by the same construction corps he’s a part of, to the kitchen. It overlooks a lush meadow, with a stream down by the woods that makes for a refreshing walk.

She wets a towel, hands it to him, and instructs him to sit at the table. With it he mops the dried blood off his face. She digs through their freezing unit, pulling out a bag of frozen vegetables and holding it up to his eye. “Hold still, this is gonna sting.”

She presses the frozen bag against his hot skin and he hisses in pain.

“What in the galaxy did you trip into, somebody’s fist?” Rey asks.

He’s been found out. No sense keeping up the lie. He sighs. “Some village hooligans threw a rock.”

“Are you serious?” Her face scrunches with rage. “I’ll go out there right now and tan their hides.”

“It’ll only encourage them.”

“Still,” she huffs. “It’s unacceptable that they’re treating you this way. You’re a person, just like they are.”

He swallows hard, unsure he can agree.

“Y’know what,” Rey says, pulling the bag away and reaching out her palm, “I think, maybe I can just—”

He grabs her wrist. “Don’t.”

“It’s going to bruise. You’ll have a black eye for a week.” Her arm tightens under his grip, but she doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, her hazel eyes stare intently into his own.

His stomach flip-flops. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d pull her down into his lap and kiss her. “Let it.”

She huffs and shakes her head, dropping her hand. “Having the Force used _on_ you doesn’t violate the terms of your probation, you know.”

“I know,” he says. He stubbornly presses the bag against his eye. “It just feels too easy, the other way.”

She watches him for a moment, her expression troubled. He averts his gaze to the window. The sun has poked through the clouds. Drops of rain cling to the grass outside; the whole meadow sparkles.

Rey squeezes his shoulder. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well, they didn’t throw me back in prison, so I’m assuming it went all right.”

“Very funny, Ben.” She uses the name naturally, like he’s never been anyone else. He appreciates it, but it makes him feel guilty, like an award he cheated to win.

“What happened to the cake?” he asks to change the subject. It’s sitting on the counter, one side all but collapsed in on itself. Rey has decided to master baking on her days off, and they both agree so far the project has been a disaster.

“Oh, hell, I dunno. First I think I put salt instead of sugar. Then maybe baking powder instead of soda. Then the instructions said depending on planetary conditions, it might need to bake longer, so I put it in for an extra twenty minutes. And then _that_ happened.”

He laughs. “I’ll still try it. I’m starving.” And he is, he realizes. He hasn’t eaten since the insta-egg he choked down for breakfast.

She gives him a look that could freeze a star. “Oh, no. It’s going right in the trash receptacle. I don’t want to be responsible for poisoning you.” She marches to the counter and tosses it unceremoniously into the bin. “Now what am I gonna serve for dessert tonight? I guess I’ll have to run to the shops.”

“Wait,” he says. “What’s happening tonight?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Finn, Poe and Rose are coming for dinner, remember?”

He does not remember. In fact, just about everything aside from his parole meeting has slipped his mind lately, since he’s been dreading it so thoroughly. He hasn’t seen any of those people since his court hearing, when the Inner Council voted for his supervised release. He knows he should be grateful, but he can’t shake the feeling they all despise him, and hate that Rey has chosen to live with him. Playing nice with them for an entire evening sounds about as appealing as a trip through a trash compactor.

“Slipped my mind.” He sighs. “It’s fine. I can just go down to the dockyard and work on the _Falcon_.” There it is, something he could have told his counselor that he does for himself: tinker in the old ship that used to belong to his father – before the patricide got him.

“Don’t you dare,” Rey says, pointing an accusing finger. “They’re coming to see you, too. Y’know, as in, _us_.”

“Probably to see if I’m mistreating you,” he mutters darkly.

“Oh, get off it. You’re the one with a shiner. They should be worried I’m mistreating _you_.” She flashes a brilliant smile and grabs her poncho off the hook by the back door. “I’ll pick up a bacta-patch while I’m out. Works better than frozen vegetables.”

His heart contracts. The thought of being alone in the house is suddenly too much to bear. “You want me to come with you?”

“Better not. It’s safer if you stay here.” She flashes a mischievous grin. “No one dares accost me in the streets.”

Of course they don’t. She’s the hero of the Resistance, the last Jedi and first Jedi all wrapped into one.

She sweeps out of the room. Outside, the sun dips behind a cloud, giving the illusion she steals away the light as she leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

He ends up going to the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ after all, slipping out while Rey is away. The dockyard is small and sparsely populated, especially on a day most people are off work. It overlooks the sea, which today is as grey as the sky, giving him a melancholy sort of feeling. He’s been to the beach here with Rey on clear days, dipping their feet in the surf and laughing at the water’s bitter cold.

The _Falcon_ sits in its docking bay like an ancient monolith, a testament to a time long gone. He tried to give it away as penance, first to Lando, who assured him his father would have wanted him to have it, and then to Chewbacca. Chewie’s refusal was less cordial, though about as lukewarm as one could reasonably expect. Lando told him he knows all about atoning for past sins, and promised to be in touch if he was needed. Chewie said, in no uncertain terms, that the ship was the younger Solo’s by birthright, but Chewie’s life debt to Han was fulfilled, and he would finally be returning to his family on Kashyyyk.

A painstakingly crafted apology all but fell on deaf ears. _Don’t seek me out_ , was the rough translation of Chewie’s response in Shyriiwook. _I don’t associate with father-killers._

As much as it hurts, he understands. He doesn’t much like to associate with himself either. He knows it was an act of charity on Chewie’s part not to remove his head from his shoulders before they parted ways.

So the _Falcon_ is his. He considers it a bit of poetic irony, that he ended up on his father’s home world with his father’s ship. It’s barely space-worthy in its current condition, but he’s determined to fix it up nice, restore it to something his father would be proud of. He won’t be able to fly it for several years – one of the conditions of his release was the revocation of his pilot license, to make him less of a flight risk – but that’s all right, because it might take that long to fix it, anyway. He’s not the best mechanic, so there’s a lot of referring to maintenance manuals and watching Holonet tutorials. Rey has offered to help, but knows it’s a ritual he feels is more important to do alone. Plus it gives him something to focus his energy on when not at work. Rage and violence took up far more of his time than he realized, and keeping busy puts it in check.

He tinkers for a few hours, falling into a flow of concentration and enjoying the silence, punctuated only by the occasional call of seabirds circling overhead. It’s nearing dark when he realizes the day got away from him. When did Rey say the dinner party starts? Cursing, he wipes the engine grease from his hand with a rag and takes off up the rocky coast.

The day cleared while he was working, and the stars are just starting to come out. Lanterns light the old stone path that leads from the dockyard to their neighborhood. A symphony of insects have taken up around him. The house comes into view, the windows alight, and two unfamiliar speeders are parked in front. His anxiety spikes.

He enters the house to the sound of laughter. The door to the back patio is open, letting in the warm night air. When they moved in, Rey decorated their outdoor space with an abundance of potted plants from all over the galaxy, and strung up fairy lights. They twinkle merrily, illuminating the patio furniture and the guests seated on them. He sees her first, a vision in dusky violet, her hair about her shoulders. She’s laughing at something Finn said, seated across from her, on either side are Poe Dameron and Rose Tico. They act differently outside the council chamber where he last saw them, his head bowed in shame and penitence. They all look younger, relaxed, happy to be in each other’s company.

Everyone looks up and sees him standing there, unshowered and streaked with grease, his eye bruising in real time. Their guests stiffen; Rey leaps from her seat, surprise and relief crossing her face. And behind it, he knows, anger. “There you are!”

She hurries to his side, grabs his hand. “Your comlink was off,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I was at the _Falcon_. Lost track of time.”

She drags him across the threshold, and, his heart thumping, she presents him to Finn, Rose and Poe as if they’ve never met. “Guys, this is Ben. Ben, I’m not sure if you’ll remember, but these are—”

He remembers. Poe Dameron locked in the interrogation chair aboard the _Finalizer,_ teeth bared and screaming as he resisted Kylo’s mental invasion. Finn splayed in the snowy forest on Starkiller Base, his back bleeding. All of them seated on the high bench in the Inner Council chamber, their eyes narrowed as the government prosecutor recounted his long list of misdeeds. It was an anonymous vote, and one of them cast their ballot against his release. A smaller number than he expected, but he’s always wondered which one. Their expressions look similarly now, staring at him as if they’ve just discovered something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of their shoes.

“You don’t need to give introductions,” he says gruffly, raising a hand in an awkward wave. “Hi. Um, I’m just gonna take a shower real quick. Don’t let me interrupt.”

He flees from the patio, storming through the small house to their single, shared bedroom. He’s rifling through the wardrobe to pull out appropriate attire when Rey walks in, shutting the door quickly behind her. Her brow is furrowed, a scowl on her lips. He knows this was coming. “Come on, Ben. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what? I need to shower if I’m going to look presentable for your friends.”

“You barely even made eye contact. They _wanted_ to come and meet you, you know. I didn’t blackmail them.”

“Could have fooled me.” He needs to get past her to reach the bathroom. “Move, please.”

She takes a deep breath, and for a moment he thinks she’ll raise her voice or take a swing at him. But she simply puts her hands on his shoulders and kisses him lightly. “Don’t take too long, all right? The roast will be out of the oven in twenty minutes.”

He showers quickly, flinching away from the hot spray of water when it hits his tender eye. Dressing in front of the mirror, he glowers at himself. He’s always found his face too long and angular, his nose too big, slightly off center. The purpling bruise runs from his eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone. Between that and his dripping hair, he looks pathetic, barely a person. He longs for the days when he could reach for a mask, obscure everything but the exact image he wanted to project.

When he emerges, the kitchen smells of delicious meat and exotic spices. Out on the patio, Rey and her friends are deep in conversation, and, by the look of things, their mugs of ale.

“I told Kaydel,” Poe says loudly, “we find enough Force sensitive kids, we’ll build the Jedi back up. It’s as simple as that. We have someone to train them.”

He gestures dramatically toward Rey, who laughs until she sees the doorway is occupied. “Ben, come sit,” she says, moving her chair and patting the empty one beside her.

He moves slowly, focusing on everything but the faces of the people surrounding him, until he’s finally settled in his seat. He almost wishes he grabbed a bottle of ale off the kitchen counter, but the dark side and alcohol never mixed well. “Bringing back the Jedi, huh?”

Poe’s smile freezes on his face. Finn and Rose exchange surreptitious glances. “It’s just an idea,” Rose says diplomatically.

“Yeah, because it’s worked so well in the past.”

Finn clears his throat. “Maybe we should keep off discussing official business after hours, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t mind me, what do I know about the Jedi?” He tries to smile, to show he’s joking. No one looks amused.

“Ouch,” Poe observes, gesturing toward his face. “What happened? You lose a bar fight?”

“Angry mob in town. Guess people don’t like having a former dictator in the neighborhood.” A second attempted joke falls flat. 

Rey stands and pats his arm, although whether it’s as encouragement or a warning he’s not sure. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

Finn, Rose and Poe let the silence linger, taking long pulls of their respective drinks. Rose speaks up first. She’s animated and eager, and he feels less hostility coming off her in waves. “Hey, Ben, how’s Habitat for the Galaxy working out for you? I’m really curious to hear an insider’s perspective.”

“Rose pioneered that program,” Finn adds, nodding.

He knows that already; it was part of the whole reason Rey asked for a pardon for him in the first place. It was a perfect opportunity to show off the program’s potential to rebuild from the war, as well as give refugees, the unemployed, and prisoners work for a fair wage. He hates being talked down to, least of all from a lowly stormtrooper who should understand a thing or two about switching sides.

He has no complaints about his work, and rather likes it, but he bristles at the idea of telling them about it so they can revel in how far Kylo Ren has fallen. He shrugs. “It’s better than sitting in prison.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, with a wry laugh. “I imagine it is.”

“You don’t sound very grateful,” Finn says pointedly.

“Of course I’m grateful. Why wouldn’t I be grateful?” What does Finn want him to say? _Sure, I had to give up ultimate dictatorial power and status as one of the strongest Force users in the galaxy, but I get to hammer nails into wood all day!_ “I’ve got everything I could want right here.”

Rey enters the patio with the roast on a tray, and to demonstrate, he slides his arm around her waist. Finn’s eyes narrow, and he understands. He hasn’t quite been able to suss out the object of Finn’s attraction between Poe and Rose, but he suspects the truth is a bit more sinister. Finn still wants what he can’t have.

With the food served, he has an excuse not to talk, and with Rey beside him to referee, the conversation skews into safer territory. He finds himself alternating between zoning out and nodding in agreement, and even having a decent snippet of conversation every so often. Rose is endearing with her earnest face and ambitious ideas for societal improvement. _We could have used you in the First Order_ , he thinks. Poe oozes charm and commands attention in a way that is difficult to ignore, something he’s still jealous of, but a friendly debate about whether the new model X-wings or TIE fighters are technologically superior thaws his opinion a little. And Finn… well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever win over Finn, but at least they aren’t hurling insults at each other.

Dinner is cleared and dessert served – a cake from the tiny but delicious bakery up the street, and he’s feeling tired and full and more at ease. Maybe that’s all Rey wanted for this evening, to make a little headway between the two spheres of her life, and it seems she’s getting it. He rests a hand on her knee as she passionately engages in banter with the others, the topics drifting back to council business the more bottles of ale that are drunk between them. Like him, she’s come a long way, and he’s proud of her, from desert scavenger on backwater Jakku to someone important, who can and does make a difference in the lives of the galaxy.

He zones back into the conversation when he hears an unexpected name: _Hux_. He straightens. Why is the former general’s name on their lips?

“We can’t keep avoiding it much longer,” Poe is saying. “The press is killing us. We have to talk to the judicial council and set a court date.”

“The Constitution isn’t done,” Rose argues. “How can we say, ‘Yes, we’re prosecuting him to the full extent of the law’ when we don’t even know what the law _is_ yet?”

“I’m with Rose,” Rey chimes in. “We haven’t got enough consensus from the regional councils on whether to add the death penalty.”

Finn shakes his head. “I say the sooner he hangs, the better.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don’t even think there should _be_ a death penalty,” Rose says.

“Me neither, but I think we need to make exceptions for genocidal maniacs.”

The words shoot past him, and he feels caught in the crossfire, although it’s clear they’ve forgotten he’s here. He wants to let the moment pass in silence, to preserve the peace he felt, but his mouth opens before he can stop it.

“Why spare me and not him?”

The conversation screeches to a halt. All around the table eyes turn to him.

“Ben,” Rey says, reaching for his shoulder. “You’re different.”

He shrugs her hand away. “No, I’m not. We both participated, knowingly and willingly, in the destruction of the New Republic. Why do I get a pass and he gets to swing? I just want to know. Truly.”

The emotion builds in his chest, and he worries he might start to cry, right here, in front of everyone, all these former enemies who once would have loved to see his head on a spike. He stares from one to the next, registers their shocked faces.

Rey shakes her head. “I don’t understand. I thought you hated Hux.”

“I did. I do. But that doesn’t mean he deserves to die.”

A stunned silence falls. Rose is again the first to break it. “He has a point.”

“What?” Finn explodes. “No, he doesn’t! He just wants to save his little fascist buddy’s hide. How many people died in the attack on the Hosnian system? Six billion? Seven?”

“If we start drawing lines in the sand like that, saying who is and who isn’t deserving of mercy, how are we moving beyond the divisions that started all of this in the first place?” Rose asks.

“That’s a good way of looking at it,” Poe says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It would really bolster our message, that we’re no longer capitulating to nepotism and special interests.”

“I don’t care about our message.” Finn stands. “I was raised in the First Order stormtrooper program. _Hux_ ’s program. I think I can speak to the suffering we endured better than any of you. Ripped away from our parents, conscripted for Hux’s vision of the perfect soldier. Do you know how many former troopers we’re still trying to reunite with their families? _Thirteen million_. Thirteen million families torn apart, because of him. And _you_ ,” Finn points right at him. “You were complicit in that.”

“So that’s what you want?” Ben says softly. “Revenge?”

“Someone has to pay. It’s obviously not gonna be you. So it should be someone.” Finn gathers up his things, and Rose tries to get him to sit back down, but he can’t be stopped.

Rey pleads, but now all three guests are on their feet, and the door is beckoning. Poe looks more exhausted than upset, but cites the hour growing late as an excuse to leave as well.

“I’m so sorry,” Rose says, clasping Rey’s hand. “Dinner was lovely. Truly. It was nice to meet you, Ben!”

He stays seated with his head bowed, not daring to look at any of them.

The front door opens and closes, and a few minutes later, Rey returns. She stands in the doorway, shaking her head. “Why did you do that?”

“What? Speak my mind? Sorry, didn’t know that wasn’t allowed per the terms of my parole.”

“Ben.”

“So I guess Finn was the ‘no’ vote.” He laughs bitterly. “He probably would have led Hux and me to the gallows himself, given the chance.”

“Ben, _please_.”

“He’s still in love with you, by the way. It’s so obvious it’s disgusting.”

“Why are you being like this?” Rey accuses, and to his shame he sees there’s tears in her eyes. “You’re— you’re being like—”

“Like who?” he asks, looking up at her. “Go on, you can say it.”

Rey wipes the moisture from her eyes. “Like Kylo Ren.”

Hearing the grief choke her voice as she speaks is like a spike in his heart. “I _am_ Kylo Ren, Rey. What, do you think we’re two different people? That I can just flip a switch and be Ben Solo again? I _can’t_. I am who I am, no matter what my goddamn name is.”

There was a time when this would have spun them out of control, back in the volatile days when they were on opposite sides of the war. Name-calling, violence, that never-ending push and pull between them, despite being connected by the Force, or perhaps because of it. He sees the tension building in her face, her face wet and breath shallow. He feels wrecked by how much he’s hurt her with the truth of his words. He wishes he could be better for her.

She takes a deep breath and drops into the chair beside him. She looks around the patio, the carnage of ale bottles and half-eaten cake. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just— it’s been good lately, hasn’t it? I’ve been happy. You seem happy. I wanted to spread that around to everyone I care about. Maybe I pushed too hard, too fast.”

His love for her swells, and he reaches out, brushing the hair behind her ear. “I am happy here with you. It’s just… complicated, the rest of it.”

She puts her hand over his and they thread their fingers together. “You’re serious, though? You really think we should give Hux a pardon?”

He nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Her brows furrow. “But why?”

“Because Finn is right. Hux and I are both culpable. I only got off light because of my connections. It seems unfair, especially since we both ended up helping the Resistance in the end.”

“Do you really think Hux can be rehabilitated? My understanding is he wasn’t aiding us out of any sense of altruism.”

He hesitates. Can Hux be rehabilitated? The question hangs uncomfortably in the air. He worked with Hux for several years, and never once saw anything resembling a wavering sense of self or doubt in his actions and goals. Even in prison, Hux maintained his rigid military posture, his head held high. He might be defeated, but he never seemed remorseful.

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. “But not even trying feels cynical. Anyone can be redeemed, isn’t that the message the new government wants to send?”

Rey snorts. “Okay, now you sound like Poe, obsessed with political messaging.”

“He’s not so bad. Though my TIE Silencer could outrun his X-wing any day.”

“I’d pay to see that race.”

“Maybe once I get my pilot license back.” He smiles. “But do you get what I mean? I think about this sometimes. Like, if my grandfather hadn’t died on the last Death Star, and my uncle Luke returned to the Rebellion with him, what would they have done? Strung him up, or shown him mercy?”

Rey frowns. “I don’t know. I hope the latter.”

“I hope so too. Because that way, at least I would’ve had a chance to know him.”

They sit in silence for awhile, holding hands. The insects sing around them, and in the distance, some nocturnal animal howls at the moon.

“You’d have to testify for Hux,” Rey says. “If I convince the council to pursue this. You’re the one who knows him best.”

“I can do that.” He’ll be paying it forward. It’s the least he can do.

Rey takes a breath. “I’ll try, Ben. Really, I will. Rose and Poe can be swayed, I think. Finn will dissent, but that’s democracy for you.”

He reaches over and puts his arms around her. She feels soft and warm in his embrace. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She pulls back, and with a sigh, surveys the table. “Ugh, look at this mess. It will take forever to clean up.”

“It’s late,” he says, standing. “We can deal with it tomorrow.”

“I dunno, it’ll probably attract flies— _Ben_!” She lets out a surprised laugh as he grabs her around the waist and slings her easily over his shoulder.

“It’s late,” he repeats. “We should go to sleep.”

Amid giggles and half-hearted struggling, he carries her to the bedroom, although it will be awhile before they get to sleep.

* * *

A few months later, the day dawns early and hot. The height of summer grips Corellia’s northern hemisphere. Ben arrives at the Habitat for the Galaxy work site just as the sun peaks above the distant mountains, his hair tied at the nape of his neck. They’re erecting a house frame today, and it will be many hours of exertion and sweating.

When the workers clock in, the foreman, a humorless Mon Calamari, tells them to gather around. “We have someone new joining the crew today,” he says in his raspy voice. He beckons with a flipper. “Everyone, this is Armitage.”

If the other workers are moved by the appearance of the former First Order general, stripped of his imposing black uniform and given the same beige coveralls they all wear, none of them say so. One person spits on the ground, but he’s had allergies all season. The rest of them grunt _hello_ or say nothing at all. There’s a lot of ex-convicts on this particular crew, so no one is especially dazzled.

Hux stares at the ground, his shoulders hunched in humiliation. He lost weight in prison, Ben notes, and is slight and unassuming in an unexpected way. His red hair is still slicked back in its signature style, but will soon fall lose and stick to his face with perspiration.

When they disperse to their various tasks, Ben attempts a greeting, but Hux marches right past him, as if he were the wind. The leg of Hux’s trousers lift slightly as he goes, revealing the blinking ankle bracelet he’s been issued, identical to Ben’s own.

Ben follows him. Like it or not, they’ve been assigned to the same work stations. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Hux’s tone is as haughty as ever.

“What, not even a ‘thank you’?” Ben picks up a stack of wooden beams they need to cut down to appropriate sizes. The authorities were adamant the two couldn’t speak directly before the Inner Council hearing, on the reasoning that Hux might coach him in his testimony. In the council chambers, even while on the witness stand, Ben was unable to catch his eyes. The former general’s gaze remained firmly on the table in front of him, his expression stony and unreadable. Ben sent a letter soon after the verdict, but Hux never replied. “I saved your life, you know.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to be grateful?” Hux regards the wood cutting equipment before them with disdain. “So I can waste away the best years of my life doing manual labor? For the _Republic_?”

“It’s not the Republic,” Ben reminds him, setting the pile of wood down with a grunt. “They’re thinking of calling it the ‘Federation’ or something.”

Hux scoffs. “I’d rather take the noose.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, well, nobody asked me, did they? No, you were all too busy patting yourselves on the back for being oh-so-magnanimous in making an example of me.” Hux glares at him. His face is already reddening in the sun, but his blue-green eyes are cold as ice. “I will not be made a pawn in your little power games.”

“ _Hey_.” Ben stalks closer, and all the old anger is there, that bad blood that flowed between them for years. They never did see eye-to-eye, did they? Why should they start now? “Pardoning you was _my_ idea. Not for political reasons, but because I thought that if I deserve a second chance, you do too.”

Hux flicks him away with his hand like an insect. “Please. Find some other pet project to help you assuage your feelings of guilt. I have no regrets about the choices I made, unlike you. The First Order would have transformed this galaxy if we’d been given a proper chance.”

Ben stands there, at a loss for words.

Hux picks up a schematic datapad from the crafting table and studies the house design. “This isn’t even the optimal foundation for a structure of this size and material. Ten years tops and it will start sinking into the earth, mark my words.”

Ben lets out a sigh, massaging the back of his neck. Of all the outcomes for his first good deed since the end of the war, he could not have foreseen this one. “You’ll make no friends like this, Hux.”

“Oh, Ren. Whatever gave you the impression that I want _friends_?”

The morning drags on. Something Ben always suspected becomes abundantly clear: physicality never was and never will be Hux’s strong suit. He huffs and strains his way through the lifting and the climbing and the pounding, muttering under his breath the whole time. Ben is torn between schadenfreude and pity. He never thought this job, so simple for him, would be so difficult for someone else.

Around noon hour, the crew takes a break. With the Inner Council in summer recess, Rey comes down the hill to meet him, carrying a bagged lunch. They settle under the shade of a tree to get out of the heat and she unpacks cold sandwiches and lemonade.

Mid-chew, Rey cries, “Hang on, is that Hux?”

She points, and he follows her gaze. Hux wanders around the work site, trying to look busy.

“That’s him,” Ben says grimly.

“Oh, wow. I knew he was being released soon, but I didn’t know he’d be _here_.” She looks to Ben, scrunching up her nose. “You think we should invite him over?”

“I doubt it,” Ben mutters.

“You sure? It looks like he hasn’t got any lunch.” Leave it to Rey to notice people going hungry. “I packed extra, just in case.”

“I dunno. I don’t think he’s very happy with me.”

“That’s no excuse.” Hux passes again, and Rey waves her arms frantically in his direction. “Hey, Hux! C’mere!”

Hux, his brow furrowed in suspicion, approaches their shady spot. He’s resumed his military stance, back straight, his hands folded behind his back. “Yes, what is it?”

“Come sit with us and have some lunch,” Rey says, motioning beside them.

Hux blinks rapidly, caught off-guard. “I— what? No, no, I couldn’t possibly impose—”

“You’re not imposing,” Rey says, holding up the wrapped sandwich. “In this heat? If you don’t eat something, you’ll faint dead away soon, trust me.”

Hux’s gaze wavers between Rey and the sandwich. Then he looks to Ben, who shrugs. “She’s usually right about this stuff.”

Hux takes a breath. “Well, all right, I suppose.”

He sits across from them awkwardly, as if afraid he’ll dirty his clothes on the ground. Rey hands him the sandwich and a bottle of lemonade. He takes one tentative bite of the food, and then another. “This is quite good,” he admits.

Ben grins. “Rey made it. She’s becoming a real gourmet chef.”

“But not a baker,” Rey adds, laughing. “Don’t ask me to bake anything, it’s a nightmare.”

“Well.” Hux scrapes his sweat-dampened hair behind his ear. “Thank you. For the kindness.”

“Anytime. This your first day out?”

Hux’s expression falters. “Is it that obvious?”

“Little bit,” Rey says, sipping her lemonade. “You liking it all right? It’s done wonders for Ben.”

“I think Hux believes the work is beneath him,” Ben says smugly.

The former general glares lasers in his direction. “I wouldn’t say _that_. Just that in terms of administration and implementation, the program has some obvious flaws.”

“Oh?” Rey raises an eyebrow. “If you have constructive feedback, I can pass it along to Rose Tico, the program director. I see her almost every day.”

Hux’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He closes it, stares at the sandwich he’s holding in his lap, and tries again. “Would a written report via datapad suffice?”

“Of course. I’ll give you my Holo address. You can send it there and I’ll forward it directly to Rose.”

Details exchanged, the lunch break passes and soon the bell rings, calling the workers back to the site. Ben stands and stretches, then leans down and gives Rey a kiss. “Delicious as always, thanks.”

Rey gives him a big hug. Pulling away, she waves to Hux and tells him she’s looking forward to his report. The two men walk back to the work site together, and Ben notices the high color in Hux’s cheeks can’t only be sunburn.

“See?” Ben says. “This is better than being dead.”

“Only marginally,” Hux retorts, although a ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

Not perfect, but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt to give TROS an epilogue that is kinder and gentler than the film, but not overly simplistic in its moral message. I hope I succeeded! It was a challenge to do something more quiet and contemplative with the characters than is my normal dramatic fare. I'm not sure what resulted really counts as "fluff," but I had fun with it nonetheless. :) 
> 
> Happy Valentine's, loves.


End file.
